Dead Roses
I want to write about you forever, because youâre my inspiration and motive. I want you to be my missing piece that I search for and canât find, my plan that I try so hard but fail to achieve. Well, I say a lot of âwantâ when the fact is I âneedâ all that and I need all you. Iâm the unlimited hope and staggering impatience. Iâm the desire for all and the lack of everything. Iâm the perfect planner and the poorest executor. Iâm the anger at the fact that youâre not here and the wishing of you to not be. Do I need to be complete? And what completes me? The latter is easy because you know itâs you, even if I try to convince myself otherwise. But the first I really canât find an answer for. If I need to, then your distant memory and my desire for you will make me an unstoppable force except for my impatience that kills all what I hope for, makes me powerless and weakens every bone in my body, because this task is the longest of roads. So inside all that conflict sadly I find myself with nothing. Is it the fact that "needs" devour the person and make him an angry fire that eats itself from the inside out? Or is it the unexplainable fact that we search for something that we think will make us whole, but when we reach it we find ourselves more destroyed than before? "
